


come over here & overwhelm me

by xintong



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Brief mention of flower shop, Cliches abound, Fluff, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/pseuds/xintong
Summary: In the summer Yuri turns 16, he grows 6 inches, drowns Viktor in his own tears, and falls in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jon Bellion's "Overwhelming."

Yuri’s growth spurt hits him in the late summer after he turns 16, and Viktor cries for two hours when he realizes he can no longer smother Yuri into his chest or rub his cheek all over the crown of Yuri’s head.

“You were so _small_!” Viktor wails, tears dribbling down his chin. Yuuri, sitting beside him, hands him a tissue absentmindedly as he scrolls through SNS, already far too used to his fiancé’s dramatics. “Tiny! Cute! Like a baby lamb! And now you’re, you’re—!”

“I’m _what_ , Viktor?” Yuri snaps, and thanks whatever god out there that his voice didn’t crack. Again.

Viktor sniffles. “Still cute, except your voice is hideous.”

“Say that to me without snot all over your face, old man!”

“He might grow even taller than you, Vitya,” Yuuri pipes up, smiling fondly at Yuri. Viktor only bursts into further waterworks in response, throwing himself into Yuuri’s lap.

“My son’s all grown up.”

“I’m not your son!”

“Vitya, don’t wipe your nose on my pants.”

Yuri pinches the bridge of his nose and pushes off the side of the rink, getting as far away from Viktor as possible. He glides almost effortlessly, running through a series of step sequences with half his mind detached. It was difficult at first, adjusting to his new body, but his balance and coordination are gradually catching up. He wonders if he’s taller than Otabek now.

 _Probably_ , Yuri thinks, and the thought makes him smile. _Although Beka’s still growing, too._

When practice finishes, there’s three new notifications on his phone — a snap from Phichit and two texts from Otabek. Phichit’s sent him his daily cat update via Snapchat, and Yuri still curses the app for not providing a feasible way to download video.

Otabek asks: _Have you landed the quad loop yet?_

Followed by: _I look forward to seeing it._

Yuri scoffs through a smile, because why ask if he just assumes Yuri has, or will, land it? But that’s the thing about Otabek, his unwavering faith in Yuri’s strength and abilities. It’s flattering and a little bit maddening, to say the least.

 _Not yet_ , he texts back. Then, with an odd fluttering gripping his heart: _I look forward to seeing you skate too._

His fingers tap restlessly against the phone case after he sends the message. His cheeks feel flushed. When he looks up, Yuuri is staring at him, an expression on his face like he knows something Yuri doesn’t.

“You’re definitely growing,” he says, cryptically. Yuri narrows his eyes.

“Shut up, Katsudon.”

His voice cracks on the last syllable.

 

&

 

He’s definitely taller.

They see each other again in Canada, and while Otabek may have grown five centimeters, Yuri’s got at least another three on him. It’s fun to gloat over the new advantage all for a minute, until Otabek smiles warmly and tells him “good luck, tomorrow,” and Yuri promptly trips himself on the ice.

It’s strange because he’s never been that clumsy, landing on his ass, and it’s strange because that’s not even the reason why his cheeks are burning. There’s that fluttering sensation again, bumping around inside his chest, only so much worse. Yuri suddenly wants to fling himself out of the skating rink, out of the country, and he can’t understand why. It’s just Beka for Christ’s sake. Beka who wishes him luck all the time, who smiles with his eyes crinkled, soft and bright. Beka who sports a five o’clock shadow and a shirt too tight, toned, sun-kissed arms braced against his knees as he looks down bemusedly at Yuri who’s still sprawled across the ice.

Yuri thinks, quite madly, that maybe if he overheats enough he’ll melt the whole skating rink and, _I don’t know, drown._

Thankfully, Yuri tends to take uncomfortable emotions and turn them into feats of art, so whatever havoc running amuck inside him doesn’t affect his performance, at the very least. His program isn’t perfect — he steps out of a quad sal and flubs the landing of a triple axel — but he executes the quad loop to outstanding applause. It’s not until after when the adrenaline subsides, when Yuri sees Otabek standing at the kiss and cry, that there’s a want, a yearning in him that nearly makes him trip all over again.

He doesn’t hesitate. He falls into Otabek’s arms easily, like gravity. _There’s no point in fighting gravity_ , Yuri reasons, tucking himself close into the crook of Otabek’s shoulder. Otabek’s stubble grazes his cheek, and Yuri can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

“You were amazing out there,” Otabek says, warm and sincere, completely unaware of what it does to Yuri’s poor heart. Yuri has the slight notion that he’s going to combust, because his chest is thumping wildly again and it’s kind of hard to breathe, but he only hugs Otabek tighter.

It feels good and he smells nice. Screw self-preservation anyway.

“So, you’ll let Otabek hug you, but run away when anyone else tries to,” Yuuri comments during dinner, casual, like the rain is wet. He’s there for moral support since his own event isn’t until next month, but Yuri deeply regrets bringing him along now.

“I hug people,” Yuri says, defensively. He stabs his fork into his spaghetti when Yuuri merely responds with a skeptical “hmm” and changes the subject, trying to distract Yuri with a video of the triplets figure skating that Yuko sent. It works, but that doesn’t mean Yuri doesn’t lose sleep over it later that night. Darn that sly Katsudon.

Skate Canada ends with Otabek placing first, Yuri second, and Seung-gil in third. For once, the award ceremony isn’t excruciating thanks to the lack of a certain cocky Canadian, and the presence of Otabek by his side. Yuri doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until his cheeks ache in the aftermath. He smiles more, still, when Otabek motions for him from across the room during the dinner celebration and they both slip outside.

Yuri’s prepared this time when Otabek leads him to a motorbike parked in the lot, two helmets slung on its handles. What he’s not prepared for is the way his throat closes up at the sight of Otabek’s thighs straddling the bike. His palms are sweating when he gets on, gripping onto the front of Otabek’s leather jacket. Yuri’s worried this absurd nervousness he feels is a new disease, and that maybe he should back out tonight and hide in his hotel to recover instead.

Otabek quickly dashes those worries away though, because despite whatever illness seems to be plaguing Yuri, it’s still so easy just talking to Otabek and spending time with him. The conversation flows easily as they walk through the city, from practice techniques to the new video game they’re both obsessed with. It’s comfortable. It’s good. Yuri holds onto Otabek’s offered hand as he balances along the stone-cobbled edge facing the ocean, and they laugh when he slips and crashes into Otabek’s ready arms, spinning like drunkards on the sidewalk.

 _Hey, thanks for today. I had a lot of fun._ Yuri texts this when he’s alone in the room and Katsudon’s in the shower, sends it after ten different drafts, then flings his phone across the bed. He stares at the ceiling with his hands smushed against his cheeks until the phone buzzes, and he practically somersaults towards it.

_I did too._

Then, a minute later:

_Want to visit Kazakhstan?_

 

&

 

Summer in Almaty is sticky and sweet, blue as taffy. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the Alatau mountains rising golden and dreamlike on the horizon. It’s perfectly gorgeous save for the sun beating relentlessly from above, smiting everything in sight.

Yuri thinks he’s going to die.

“It’s so hot how do you stand this?” he bemoans, lying star-limbed on Otabek’s floor. A single fan sputters pathetically next to him, mixing the humid air through his shirt, his hair. Otabek’s rifling through his closet for something, his voice coming out muffled.

“I don’t, which is why we’re getting out of here.”

“Out there?!” Yuri props himself up only to have a towel smack him in the face. When he shakes it off, he sees Otabek grinning, two neon water guns gripped in his hand.

“Trust me.”

After slathering himself with a copious amount of sunscreen from head to toe, trust leads Yuri to a fountain square tucked within a small park in the city center, bubbling with laughter. Kids scurry and splash across the patterned tiles, dodging the erupting geysers or pushing their friends into the rush.

“What are we, twelve?” Yuri says, but he can’t hide the eager tilt of his lips. Otabek’s already plodding across the fountain, filling up his water gun.

“You wanted to cool off, right?” he says, casually, before whipping around and hosing Yuri down with a well aimed shot.

“Beka!” Yuri yells, laughing. Otabek’s laughter echoes back, distant, and Yuri quickly gives chase. They’re both soaked within minutes, the cool sluice of water a relief on their burning skin. Some kids eventually join them, a few even recognizing Otabek. Not as the world famous figure skater, but as the boy who shares his water gear and gives them piggyback rides. It’s a strange counterpart to the Otabek in competition, to the man sitting stony-faced during press conferences, to the stranger who picked Yuri up on a motorbike.

It’s strange, but not unwelcome, and it unravels something warm inside Yuri’s chest. He wonders if this is how Otabek spends every summer, if he grew up on this fountain, drenched in sunlight. He wonders what the world would think of Otabek Altin, figure skating gold medalist mowed down by an army of kids in a water fight. He’s glad he can keep this part to himself.

Yuri pauses to catch his breath, hands braced against his knees. When he straightens back up, he sees Otabek smiling at him. He looks like he’s been through a waterfall, trousers hanging low and hugging his thighs. His shirt is translucent, clinging to every defined muscle, to the curve and cut of his hips.

Yuri’s throat suddenly burns.

“Hey, you okay? Did the heat get to you?”

Otabek walks over, close enough that Yuri can count the droplets clinging to his lashes, dark and wet, like stars. A strand of hair curls sweetly against his temple, the water kissing down his neck, his collarbones, the rise and fall of his chest… He looks younger, happy. Stupidly handsome.

Yuri shoots his unsuspecting face with water and scampers.

They stay at the fountains till sunset, when Almaty's glow deepens into oranges and reds. The city is vibrant, bustling with people headed out for the night or racing to get home. They make their way to Otabek’s mother’s flower shop, where they change into dry clothes and linger until the shop closes up. Otabek is surprisingly ( _charmingly_ ) knowledgable on most of the flowers — their names, types, and meanings. He used to help his mother around in his spare time, arranging bouquets and tending to seedlings. He tends to them now in a faded blue apron, trimming their stems while he talks to Yuri.

“What kind are these?”

“Amaryllises. They’re the easiest to bloom.”

“And these?” Yuri points to a set of flowers scattered across the counter, their filmy petals a motley of bright colors.

“Ah, those…” Otabek reaches over to pick one up. He pauses for a moment, looking at the flower as if contemplating something, before tucking it gently behind Yuri’s ear. Yuri’s breath stutters at the lingering warmth of his fingertips, trailing against his cheek, down his jaw. In the periphery of his vision, soft pinks blur and flicker slow.

Otabek steps back. Drops his hand. “Peruvian lilies.”

“Do they have a meaning?” Yuri asks, quietly. He can’t seem to find his voice. He counts the heartbeats it takes before Otabek answers.

“Friendship,” Otabek eventually says, softly, too. He seems to hesitate on saying more, his expression dimmed in the lavender dusk, but he settles on a smile instead.

He does that a lot, when they’re together. Smiles in a way that makes Yuri think that somewhere in the world a litter of kittens has been born, or some other miracle equally faultless and warm. But miracles imply rarity, and Otabek’s smiles fall like raindrops against Yuri’s skin. He wonders where all the tabloids get the idea that Otabek is stiff and impassive from, because Otabek is nothing but expressive when he’s with him. 

 

&

 

The next time Yuri sees Otabek, he’s 18 and 181, a scant centimeter above Viktor’s hairline.

(Viktor nearly drowns in his own tears.)

Somehow, miraculously, Phichit managed to get every skater around the globe to his birthday bash. Then again, it’s Phichit, loyal and endearing and basically unstoppable. He’s rented out an entire roller skating rink for the occasion, complete with disco lights and hamster costumed servers. It’s a bit over the top, but…

It’s Phichit.

“Yuri, I’m so glad you could make it!” Phichit barrels into him and squeezes him into a crushing hug.

“Happy birthday, Phichit,” Yuri manages to choke out, wheezing slightly when Phichit lets go. Luckily, Phichit spots Yuuri and Viktor next, and Yuri is spared from another onslaught of well-meaning hugs as the Thai figure skater tackles the two of them instead.

“Careful, you might have a broken rib. I know I do.” 

Otabek is leaning against the rink with his arms crossed, the sleeves of his black dress shirt pushed up. He’s possibly a head shorter than Yuri by now, but he carries himself in a way that makes Yuri feel like they’re eye to eye. By now, too, Yuri is well aware that his symptoms — a hiccuping heart, a buzz beneath his skin — aren’t related to allergy or disease, but rather just a fuck ton of attraction. And holy hell is Otabek attractive.

“Hey, Beka.” Yuri says, already orbiting towards him. Otabek meets him halfway, and they stand close but not quite touching.

“Hey. I’m glad you came.” Otabek’s mouth quirks up slightly in that familiar, stomach-flipping way. It’s so good to see it up close again and not behind the scratchy filter of a Snapchat or Skype call. Yuri wants to kiss it until it blooms.

“You two love-birds ready to come wipe the floor with us?”

The catcall comes from JJ, skating up towards them. Yuri’s never wanted to punch him more. The cocky bastard reaches out to pinch his cheek, and glides off laughing before Yuri can make a swipe at him.

“Come on, you can go beat him once you’ve got skates on,” Otabek says, eyes crinkling. Yuri nods, murder in his veins, ready to annihilate JJ on the skating rink just like he did on the ice, except, except…

Turns out, rollerskating isn’t like ice skating at all. Yuri feels like he’s been born anew, or some bullshit like that, whatever. Point is, he’s clumsy as fuck and can’t let go of the side of the rink for the life of him. It sucks ass, especially when JJ spots and mocks him for almost doing the splits in an effort to not crash face first. Chris is also disgustingly good on the roller skates, having some sort out of body experience as he slides across the floor to finish a thrilling performance, moaning in a way that makes Yuri want to scrub his ears off.

Hell, even Katsudon’s got moves.

“You don’t know how to roller skate, do you?” Otabek coasts over to his side, as effortless and graceful as he is on figure skates. He sounds concerned, but Yuri can tell from his clenched jaw that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

“Don’t. Laugh,” he grits out, throwing his best glare at Otabek.

“I’m not laughing,” Otabek says behind an obviously phony cough.

“You are!”

“Nope.”

“Beka.”

“Okay, maybe a little.” Otabek takes his hand and gently pulls him away from the wall. “Come on, let me help you. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

Yuri seriously doubts that with his knees clattering together nonstop, but he grips onto Otabek’s forearms tightly and wills himself the courage to leave the safety of his comfort zone. He’s a GPF gold and silver medalist for Christ’s sake; he can do this. The learning process even goes smoothly for the first half hour, with Otabek’s patient guidance and instructions. He leads Yuri carefully, correcting his posture and footwork, letting go at short intervals. Yuri feels awkward and wobbly still, but it’s a definite improvement from his earlier state. He laughs excitedly when he’s finally able to skate for longer than two seconds on his own, Otabek smiling encouragingly beside him.

JJ, of course, ruins the whole thing, zipping by with a taunt thrown over his shoulder. Yuri’s not even quite sure what he said, only that he said _something_ , annoyingly, so he whips around and shouts back at the top of his lungs, “Shut it you dicktree!” 

That… was probably a mistake. He instantly loses his balance, his skates skidding out from beneath him, and he shuts his eyes to brace for the impact. Impact never comes, however, as an arm slips behind his waist, pulling him back up and flush against a warm, solid body. Yuri opens his eyes and sees Otabek, expression bright with amusement. Yuri can feel every part of him pressed against him, all taut muscle and the spiced scent of aftershave, and it feels good. Too good. He forgets every curse word on his tongue. Forgets every word, honestly.

“Yura,” Otabek says, warm and low. Yuri feels heat pool in his belly and resists the urge to squirm. “Focus.”

For the rest of the night, Yuri’s knees are shaky for an entirely different reason.

 

&

 

“Is Yuri in love?!”

Yuri hears Viktor’s screech even from upstairs, and he rolls his eyes as he grabs his jacket and keys, checking his phone to see that Otabek’s already waiting outside. He tries to sneak down the stairs unnoticed, but sadly Viktor’s at the bottom ready to corner him like the madman he is. 

“Son, are you in love?!”

“I’m not your son!”

“Yuri, I let him in!” Yuuri calls out, stepping aside to show Otabek waiting at the door. When Yuri catches sight of him, his breath stops for a moment, like it always does. Despite how many times Otabek has picked him up — silhouetted by the sun or snow dusting his hair, motorbike rumbling in the background — the marvel of seeing him never ceases.

“Hey, I’m ready,” Yuri says, somewhat breathlessly. Otabek smiles and links their hands, his thumb brushing the ridge of Yuri’s knuckles softly.

“It was nice seeing you, Otabek. Make sure this one doesn’t get into any trouble.” Yuuri ushers them out with a small wave, and Yuri sticks his tongue out at him in answer.

“God, they need kids,” he gripes, grabbing the spare helmet off the seat of the bike.

“They have you.”

“I’m _not_ their kid, why does everyone,” Yuri groans and Otabek laughs, kissing his cheek. His stubble scrapes against Yuri's skin, and Yuri basks in the feel of it, pleased that Otabek's shaving less now because of him.  

“Here, I got you these.” From the trunk of the bike, Otabek pulls out a small bouquet. Yuri recognizes the flowers instantly.

“Peruvian lilies?”

He takes and admires the gossamer petals, pink and white, mottled in gold.  _Friendship_ , Otabek had said that summer ago in Almaty. Friendship, and something else. Something that Yuri had looked up late one night, unable to sleep from the thought of a man who always smiles, just for him — who, unconditionally, believes and supports and pushes him. Had he not realized the second meaning then, Yuri would have never gotten the courage to ask Otabek out. Kissed him breathless on the ice rink, like he always wanted.  

“I know the other meaning,” he says, and Otabek looks at him in surprise.

“Devotion.”

When Otabek blushes, it’s the best thing Yuri has ever seen.

 

&

.

.

.

 

“He’s definitely in love.”

“Vitya, go to sleep.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was in part inspired by a piece of art I saw on twitter with Yuri flailing around on roller skates. Apologies if my timeline seemed weird or if I got some figure skating technicalities flummoxed; I leave for college in a few hours so my research for this fic is a bit sketchy. Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated with virtual baked goods and hugs. Thanks for reading!


End file.
